


A Dichotomy

by saintberry



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintberry/pseuds/saintberry
Summary: He remembers, and she experiences. She falls again, and he is forgotten.





	A Dichotomy

**Author's Note:**

> been posted on tumblr for a few days, but i thought i'd post it here! & don't mind me, just descending into vicbourne hell tbh

He is an old man, and she is a young woman.

Everything she is, he isn’t – everything she needs, he cannot be. Years of loss and tedium have wearied him – years of being sheltered have left her wide-eyed, excitable, full of passion and uninhibited energy. For every tired sigh and aching bone, she laughs and pouts and never holds her tongue.

Every time he flatters a politician with pleasantries, she mutters her honest opinion in his ear.

It is an asset to them, at first. He is there to steady her when she wobbles; she is full of life when he is so tired of living. They are at opposite ends of the spectrum – both drawing each other closer to the middle. She learns about the constitution, and he remembers that duty can be enjoyed.

And that is the difference, in the end. He has experienced life – haunted by the ghosts that once filled his world. Hers is empty, so much potential, so much still in her future. He is stuck reliving greatness – she is experiencing it for the first time. She learns, while he remembers.

There is an empty space in his world that she begins to fill. Those trusting blue eyes, that teasing smile every time she calls him ‘Lord M’, the gentle bite of her lip when they drift slightly too close to each other.

They ride out together every day, dine and chat over dinner every evening. He falls asleep with her voice in his head, stands by her shoulder and watches her work. He lived for his career before, but now debating in the house feels like a chore, and returning home to her feels right.

But she is young, and he is old.

She is his pupil, and he is her teacher.

And there comes a time where she doesn’t need his lessons anymore.

He’s not sure he loves her – not the same kind of love he had for Caroline, at least. It’s a different kind of happiness, a different kind of feeling. It’s not love, no – he described it better before. It is devotion that he feels now. He’s not happy – but she is his happiness.

She is his whole world, his light in the darkness, the best part of every day.

He starts to think that it’s not love – it’s something even more.

But her world is so much bigger than his. She is all there is for him; and he will become nothing but a memory. Soon, she will remember, just like he does. He’ll be a ghost for her, like Caroline is for him.

But he won’t be a happy one. He’ll be the ghost of awkwardness, of heartbreak, of childish infatuation. A young queen in love with her prime minister. She will look back on him and blush. She will learn she was foolish, and he will remember her light.

That is when the shadows start creeping in. The more brightly she shines, the darker they get. The more her loves her, the emptier his world is without her. Augustus was so afraid of the dark – his father might just be, too

That day at Brocket Hall changes it all. The estate is already full of memories; the image of Augustus running up and down the paths, the feel of Caroline’s arm warm against his; the stone that marks where his daughter is buried.

That day becomes another memory, the ghost of her just another ghost. It is the day he chooses to let her be happy, when he never can be. The day she voices her feelings, and he resolves to keep his silent.

He is an old man, and she is a young woman. For every time she tries to choose him, he refuses to let her give everything up.

He has lost everything already – and he will not let her lose it all, too.

When he gives her up, the light turns off. Warmth dissipates, and his life is in shadow once again. He slinks into the background, hides away now he is not needed. He had a purpose with her – now she is able to lead the country, she does not need him to lead her.

When he gives her up, she replaces him.

He remembers, and she experiences.

She falls again, and he is forgotten.

He smiles through it all. She comes to tell him she is engaged, the love that was once in her eyes replaced with hesitation, and he offers her his warmest congratulations. The smile she used to give him is given to her Albert – they ride together, dine together, sit and talk about nothing together. 

She is a young woman – she moves on. He is an old man. He stands still.

It is only a few months before he bears witness to her wedding, watches her dance with her beloved, drunk on him this time, instead of champagne. She once told him she wished she could dance with him every night – that is Albert’s honour now. She will seek Albert out in a crowd, stand beside him to watch the troops, lean against his arm as they walk.

She is young, at the start of her career, and he is old, and tired, and ready to retire.

She is the queen, and he is a politician.

She is married, and he is a widow.

She is everything he wants, and nothing he can have.

And now he is nothing she needs, and nothing she desires, either.


End file.
